


Control

by PhoenixFalls



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bladder Control, Dom/sub, Edging, M/M, Orgasm Control, POV Character of Color, PWP, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/pseuds/PhoenixFalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saito buttons Arthur up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citrinesunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/gifts).



Saito buttons Arthur up.

Button-fly cotton boxer briefs; sock garters. Buttons on the fly of the silk longjohns and wool trousers worn against the damp chill of rural Hokkaido in winter. Arthur pulls on a long-sleeved undershirt, then Saito buttons him into his shirt, his waistcoat, his jacket.

Saito ties Arthur’s tie, fingers deft and practiced with the neat, symmetrical Shelby knot.

Arthur allows himself one shiver, then falls into step precisely three paces behind Saito’s left shoulder.

Throughout the morning, Saito never looks at Arthur, but he is watching nonetheless. Arthur moves as lightly as ever, ready with whatever Saito needs the instant Saito thinks to need it. But occasionally he will move too quickly, or in an unexpected direction, and his jaw will clench, just for a moment.

Saito wonders which need is more pressing. It has been days since Arthur has been allowed an orgasm; hours since he has been allowed a toilet.

Before lunch, it becomes clear that one need is paramount. Arthur’s jaw has been clenched for nearly twenty minutes, and his eyes are growing a shade wild. He is unnaturally stiff, his legs close together. Saito dismisses his servants and leads Arthur into his washroom.

Saito does not allow Arthur’s urgency to hurry his movements and Arthur, though it clearly pains him, is perfectly still as Saito reverses the work of that morning, unbuttoning wool and silk and cotton. Arthur is very nearly erect when Saito pulls him free of the last layer, and Saito takes his blood-hot length between three fingers.

“You have ten seconds.”

Instantly the sound of Arthur’s urine hitting the water fills the small room. It thunders through the flesh at Saito’s fingertips, thrumming with all the insistence of a desire long-denied, now being sated.

Saito counts in his head, and as he says simply “Ten” Arthur cuts off the stream. His chest heaves, but he keeps his face impassive.

As a reward, Saito strokes him lightly, noting with pleasure how Arthur finishes hardening fully within moments. Arthur lets his eyes slip closed and mouth slip open, panting.

A different fluid wells at his tip, and Saito milks it with a firm grip until it forms a clear, viscous droplet that plops into the still-full toilet bowl. He grabs a square of toilet paper and wipes Arthur completely clean, then flushes the mess away.

He turns his attention back to Arthur to button him back in. The layers, the clever cut of both trousers and jacket, adequately disguise Arthur’s insistent arousal from any eyes but Saito’s, which can read Arthur’s far more subtle signs.

Arthur turns to exit the washroom, but it has been several hours since Saito has made use of the facilities as well, so he says “Wait.” Arthur turns back, looking for instruction; Saito simply frees himself from his own clothing.

“Watch.”

Arthur’s eyes widen and his fingers clench into fists at his sides. He does not object, however.

Saito’s stream is slower to start than Arthur’s was, far less forceful. It is just as relieving, however. Arthur watches exactly as instructed, the entire line of his body tensed, his breathing speeding again.

Saito finishes and washes his hands, then indicates that Arthur may precede him back outside.

At lunch, Arthur neglects his drink until Saito raises an eyebrow. Even then he sips sparingly and adds salt to all of his dishes. Saito examines how carefully he is sitting, how tensed his thighs are, and allows it.

Only an hour later he is clearly reaching another crisis point. Again Saito ensures their privacy before leading him to the washroom. Again he takes his time unbuttoning Arthur. Arthur is no longer aroused, penis soft and vulnerable when Saito pulls it from the confines of Arthur’s pants.

Saito purses his lips. “Bring yourself to hardness.” He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the sink to wait.

Arthur appears to have regained some of his composure, or perhaps he was exaggerating his need. His expression grows heated and he licks his lips, showy, as he takes himself in hand. It takes very little time for his member to fill and he slows his hand, awaiting further instruction.

Saito decides to allow him this. It will be a lesson. “Continue.”

Arthur’s hand flies on his erection, and it quickly takes on an unlovely shade of red. The motion grows slick, squelching obscenely in the silence.

Arthur changes neither his motion nor his breathing, no doubt hoping to evade Saito’s detection; but Saito knows how much he can take and says an authoritative “Enough” before Arthur can reach climax. Arthur bites off a sound, high and throaty, but stops his movement immediately, dropping his hand to his side and his head against his chest.

“You may have twenty seconds.”

Arthur whips his head around, eyes round and shocked.

Saito smiles very slightly. “Your time begins now.”

Arthur immediately brings his hand back to his erection, pushing it down to aim. He has to take several quick breaths before he can begin his stream and it comes out thin and fast, in fits and starts.

Saito counts aloud once he reaches fifteen, for the pleasure of seeing the worried crease appear between Arthur’s brows as he tries to push out as much as possible in the remaining time.

Still, promptly at Saito’s “twenty” Arthur stops, twisting his hips back and pinching the tip of his penis between his fingers, eyes and mouth closed tight in concentration. Saito examines the line of Arthur’s spine, its rigidity, the uncomfortable bend, and generously indicates that he may use the sanitizer rather than the faucet to clean his hands. Then he excuses Arthur from the washroom before making his own use of the facilities.

When he emerges, Arthur’s hands are pushed deep into his trouser pockets, ruining the line completely. He is still bent nearly double, though he is leaning against the wall in a weak attempt at casualness.

“Can you straighten?”

Arthur breathes deep, focus inward. His voice is husky, that surprisingly deep baritone strained. “I don’t think so.”

Saito has no desire for Arthur to spill on his polished floors. He turns to lead Arthur out to his private courtyard. “Come.” He does not moderate his gait, leaving Arthur to shuffle uncomfortably quickly behind him.

The weak winter sun is already fading, the courtyard cast in shadow, but as instructed a servant has lit the braziers for light and warmth. Saito takes the cushioned chair between the two largest braziers, leaving Arthur standing in the open center of the space.

With his first show of emotion all day, Arthur is glaring at the fountain trickling in the corner.

“Arthur.”

Arthur’s attention snaps back where it belongs, with Saito, and he dons again his impassive mask. It is somewhat marred by the high flush on his cheeks, the sweat dewing his forehead. He has not removed his hands from his pockets.

“Stand at attention.”

Arthur’s impassivity falls apart as quickly as he had pulled it together, his expression opening into outrage tinged with panic. “I can’t—“

“Now.”

That high, helpless sound escapes him again, but with one last squirm Arthur holds his breath and straightens slowly. He pauses once he is standing erect, but at a raised eyebrow from Saito he takes another gasping breath and widens his feet to shoulder-width apart.

He screws his eyes tight, lips moving in some soundless mantra. Saito allows him to keep his hands balled in his pockets, for what good they will do him.

It is an unsustainable position. Within minutes, a thin dark line appears down the left leg of Arthur’s grey trousers. Arthur whimpers, twisting his legs together and grabbing himself with both hands.

“Please—I can’t—“

Saito allows himself a small smile. “Take yourself out.”

Arthur’s hands fumble at his fly, shaking with adrenaline. He has to stop his work several times to squeeze himself, and still the stain grows. When he finally pulls his penis free from his pants it is already spurting, the splatter immediately darkening the stones at his feet.

“Enough.”

Arthur flinches from the whipcrack of Saito’s voice. “I can’t…”

“You will, or suffer the consequences.”

Arthur curses under his breath, writhing and squeezing desperately to regain control.

When the leaking has stopped, Saito speaks again. “Masturbate.”

“Fuck – Jesus – I really can’t—“ But Arthur begins to stroke himself nonetheless.

He cannot maintain more than half an erection, and wetness continues to grow beneath him, a fluid milky mix of urine and pre-come. His litany of curses devolves into simply “Pleasepleaseplease—“

“Which do you need more?” Saito asks, curious.

“To fucking piss!”

“You may come then.”

A wordless sound of protest is all the response Saito gets, but Arthur gamely pulls faster, breath coming in short gasps.

It is perhaps thirty seconds before he begins to come, ejaculate liberally mixed with urine. Arthur has his penis in a stranglehold throughout, his expression far more pained than relieved, and even as he is shivering through the last spurts he takes up his pleading again.

“Fuck, fuck, please, I need, I can’t—“

Saito waits, eyes traveling up and down the contorted line of his body, lingering on the whiteness of his knuckles, the spot of blood where he has bitten through his lower lip. The tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Arthur is exquisite.

Saito breathes deeply of the cold air, in these last moments before it becomes scented with Arthur’s spill.

“Very good. Now you may empty yourself.”

Arthur cries out as he had not even for his orgasm, hands dropping to his sides, penis spraying urine the instant the pressure is released. The tension drains slowly from his body as the puddle beneath and around him grows. He gives no thought to aim, allowing himself to splatter his shoes and trousers liberally.

The stream slows after nearly a minute, but Arthur does not move to put himself away. Instead, a faint expression of concentration passes over his face, he adjusts his stance, and then he is urinating again, nearly as strongly as before.

It is another minute before Arthur’s stream slows again, trailing off in several short, sharp bursts. When his limp penis is merely dripping, he rolls his shoulders and his neck and then opens his eyes to meet Saito’s. His gaze is frank and unashamed.

“Fuck, that felt incredible. I need a cigarette, and then I need to sleep for a week.”

Saito uncrosses his legs and spreads them as far as the chair allows. “You have one more task to complete first.”

Arthur huffs a laugh, but his eyes grow heated again. He buttons himself back up and takes the five steps necessary to place himself between Saito’s knees, where he kneels gracefully.

His movement is loose-limbed, languorous, free as it has not been since Saito denied him the restroom after waking. His fingers are nimble on Saito’s fly. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep _you_ waiting, after all.”


End file.
